


Games We Play

by Tulikettu



Series: Ways and Means [2]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, M/M, Marvel family, Ryan has a lot of Deadpool things, Ryan's heart gets a bit broken, Tom doesn't say what he means, Tom really wants some of those things inside him, hands and knees, heart flutters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 19:06:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10623213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tulikettu/pseuds/Tulikettu
Summary: They didn't kiss at all last time. Ryan is toying with the idea now, but Tom's fingers are tugging his shirt out of his trousers and it's a little distracting."Hey, Spidey," he whispers instead, beginning to pull at Tom's tie."Deadpool," Tom breathes, his hands suddenly pressing to Ryan's skin beneath his shirt, moving hungrily over his stomach, fingers dipping lightly between his muscles. "Jesus."Ryan remembers (somewhat belatedly) that he'd had all of his clothes on last time. Nearly all of them. Tom's eyes are suddenly very dark, his tongue trailing temptingly over his lips.He doesn't really think that Tom is in the position to be exclaiming things, since his body is mostly muscle and toned like a dancer and the image of it on the bed in his trailer is burnt into Ryan's brain.Come to think of it, he really needs it refreshing. No harm.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part two! I'm very critical of my own work, so I'm not entirely sure how good this is, or if it's at all on par with part one. There is definitely a part three, though. And I'm sorry for all the angst. But I'm an old romantic, so I promise there'll be a happy ending.
> 
> Comments or messages tied to fruit baskets are always welcome!

Despite his own preferences, Ryan turns up to the premier in an actual suit and tie. No Deadpool costume. He wanted to wear it so badly, even reasoning that the venue is literally twenty minutes from his house, he can go back and change, but angry agents can be persuasive people, and he finds himself a nice black suit to don for the occasion. Everything about it is black. Shirt, tie, jacket, trousers. He thinks he looks pretty sharp.

 

He beams around the red carpet, shaking hands with his co stars who are in the movie a lot longer than he is. But they're all super bros, right? Fighting the good fight together.

 

"Hey, Deadpool."

 

Ryan spins around at the very soft voice near his ear, coming face to face with Tom, who beams at him. He looks a lot older in a suit, especially one so very specifically tailored to his body. Damn, that body.

 

"Hey, Spider boy," Ryan replies quietly. They haven't seen each other since Ryan left Tom curled in his trailer. Not that he's been actively avoiding Tom- Hollywood is a big place. "How are you?"

 

"Good. I'm glad you could make it," Tom says, even though as far as Ryan is aware there was never any question of him turning up. 

 

"You know me, I can't resist a free movie," Ryan smiles. "Plus, I’d never turn down a chance to see Spider-Man's ass in that costume."

 

Tom grins, a little flush creeping into his cheeks. He bumps his shoulder against Ryan, and Ryan finds himself automatically putting his arm around Tom's waist. 

 

"Well you may see it at the afterparty. I hear he's a touchy-feely drunk," Tom replies, walking up the red carpet beside Ryan, and  making no move to pull back from the rather intimate hold.

 

Ryan smiles. He smiles because he remembers how Tom had moaned his name, his actual name, when he'd come, and that is currently all his mind will allow him to think about. He guides Tom the rest of the way up the carpet, every moment expecting him to pull away, to greet someone else, to find an excuse to not be in Ryan’s company. But he doesn't.

 

Ryan steers him gently in through the doors of the theatre. He can't wait to see whether any pictures of the two of them make it into the entertainment media. He wants to see the headlines, he wants to-

 

"Do you want to-" Tom asks, but then stops and frowns. Ryan looks down at him.

 

"What's up, kiddo?"

 

"Nothing," Tom dismisses the question and looks around at the other guests. Ryan's hand tightens on his waist for a moment, possessive, relinquishing the hold a moment later. 

 

"Who are you sitting with?" Tom asks. Clearly he's going to dismiss him, tell Ryan he's going to go and sit with someone else. Ryan all but forced himself into the film, Tom is actually starring in it. It's Tom's premier.

 

"Oh, I don't know, I'll probably just sit in the middle row, centre seat, and wait for everyone to sit around me. It's pot luck."

 

Tom tips his head and smiles. "Come on," he says, his fingers grazing over Ryan's for a second, instructing him to follow. And God, Ryan would have followed him to the very gates of Hades if that’s where he was being lead.

 

Inside the screen, Ryan eyes up the back row right in a dark corner, but Tom heads for the middle. Robert Downey Jr and his wife are the row in front, Chris Hemsworth and his wife a few seats down so, yeah, this is a date, right?

 

"I thought dragging you to the back might give you ideas," Tom says softly, waving at Robert and scampering along to shake Chris's hand. Ryan follows, does the same, then let's Tom nudge him back to the middle. "And it would hardly be subtle if we disappeared into a dark corner-" 

 

Tom expression remains quite impassive, even though he's talking about them sitting in the dark together as though this were something they discussed already-

 

His leg feels hot against Ryan’s own as they sit down. Tom is leaning into him, but not enough that it would be obvious to anyone else. Ryan feels it, though. The gentle weight on his side, the slight movements of Tom’s body, which just bring to mind all of those muscles hidden away beneath a rather expensive suit. 

 

The seats around them fill in slowly. Both of them get up to shake hands and hug other people as they arrive, up and down. It’s quite exhausting, physically and mentally, because Ryan can’t remember the name of everyone’s bloody partners, and there are times when he finds himself introducing Tom as though Tom is his. Tom doesn’t object once, but he’s charming and cute, and every time he opens his mouth people swoon at his accent. Ryan is absolutely not staring at him at any point with warmth, adoration, or anything like that. He feels an odd jog of annoyance when Sebastian grabs Tom and picks him up in a hug, because that’s an absolute violation of Tom’s personal space, despite Tom laughing and hugging him back. But as Sebastian goes to sit beside Chris, Ryan finds himself putting a hand briefly on Tom's thigh as they sit down.

 

Out of the corner of his eye Ryan sees Tom look at him, but it's only for a second.

 

Ryan glances around the room to see who else is arriving. A woman he doesn't know has taken a seat beside Tom and is now talking in a loud, animated way to him,either not noticing Ryan or not caring he's there. Within a few more minutes a body flops heavily into the seat beside him, and a heavy hand slaps him on the leg.

 

"Hey, Buddy!" Chris Pratt beams. "I thought we were going to be late. Phew. That was the uncoolest red carpet I've ever done! Hey, kiddo!" Chris leans forward and gives Tom a high five. Tom looks pleased to see him, but Chris is with his wife so Ryan doesn't worry. No, wait, why is he worrying anyway?

 

Tom's leg is pressed against his again, intentionally. He's got to sit here for two hours, barely touching Tom. Or not barely. As the lights go down he sneaks his hand onto Tom's thigh again, squeezing. He feels Tom's leg move up into his grip. It's a tiny thing but it sends a thrill through him.

 

The Marvel logo fills the screen and Tom's fingers dance over the back of Ryan’s hand, guiding it upwards, to his inner thigh. 

 

Ryan draws in a breath and looks at Chris, who is staring straight ahead. He squeezes Tom's thigh lightly, his fingers moving over to touch his crotch, feeling the warmth of his cock radiating through the material. 

 

Tom shifts and pushes up gently, and Ryan is surprised he doesn't moan. Seriously, two hours of this? And then some.

 

His hand moves back to Tom's thigh after a few wonderful moments, resting there as the film starts. It's easy enough not to think about it when he's watching all the superhero stuff, but then Tom is on screen looking all sweaty because Peter has been working out, and Ryan grips again. He thinks he sees Tom smirk. It’s no better when Tom is suited up, mostly because last time Ryan saw him in that he'd peeled it from his body and fucked him. But also Tom's ass is so perfect.

 

Ryan remembers promising himself he'll have Tom on his belly next time to watch his ass- 

 

One hour twenty eight to go.

 

There's a point where Spider-Man is walking away from the camera beside Black Widow, both of their bottoms just a ridiculous, beautiful sight. Sure the dialogue is quite moving, Ryan read the script, but he can't tear his eyes away. From Tom's ass. The point of view changes abruptly and Ryan wishes that image could be tattooed onto the insides of his eyelids. He’d walk around like a blind man for the rest of his life, but it would be totally worth it. He turns to look at Tom, who is genuinely smirking at him this time. Oh, that smirk. It drives Ryan insane.

 

His hand slips from the armrest where it had migrated to a while ago, venturing back to Tom's lap and pressing against his crotch. Ryan curls his fingers around the soft shape of his cock, almost moaning again when Tom shifts slightly, pushing up into Ryan’s hand. 

 

He pulls his hand back quickly and rests it on the arm of the seat again, eyes fixed forward. It's fine, everything’s fine. He’s just tormenting himself. 

 

When Deadpool strolls across the screen a few scenes later Tom's leg nudges against his own, but Ryan is distracted from that gentle touch by Chris laughing loudly beside him and slapping his other leg. 

 

Tom is back on screen, pulling his mask off, his hair sweaty and stuck to his head. He looks almost as he did when he had just come and Ryan is very interested in this scene. He has no idea what Peter is talking about, but he's saying something and undoing his suit and letting it fall around his waist as he discussed whatever the fuck it is with Bruce Banner. He has such a good body. Ryan’s eyes are glued to Tom’s nipples, wondering why he hadn’t paid them more attention before. Right now he wants them in his mouth. He wants to know if Tom is sensitive there, if licking them or sucking them will make him squirm and get him hard.

 

Ryan doesn't know if he needs an after party beer or a wank.

 

That’s Tom's last scene, so the heat in Ryan's veins has time to ease up by the time the movie runs down and everyone applauds, shakes hands, congratulates each other. Tom is being pulled into a hug by the woman beside him and Ryan distracts himself by accepting cheek kisses from both Chris and his wife.

 

"Party time!" Chris yells, getting a laugh from the people around them.

 

Ryan feels a hand on his ass and turns to face Tom, who isn't even looking at him. How drunk is Tom liable to get? Because Ryan will absolutely settle for eating him out in the toilets if he can’t get him home.

 

Tom stays close as they make their way back out of the theatre. The afterparty is in a hotel directly opposite, the walkway shielded from public by large boards. Since they're in familiar company and around people with whom Ryan is more than comfortable, he slings his arm over Tom's shoulder again. His fellow actors all hold their wives and girlfriends gently around the waist, so there's nothing really intimate about this. Nothing that anyone will comment on.

 

Tom doesn't pull away, doesn't say anything about Ryan’s apparent need to always touch, and actually begins a conversation with one of the sound guys as they follow the procession across to the lobby. He’s acting as naturally as if Ryan's arm is always around his shoulders, as though having Ryan Reynolds holding him possessively is part and parcel of his daily life.

 

Well. It could be.

 

No. it couldn't be.

 

Both of them reach for glasses of champagne as they walk through the doors, and again Tom doesn't make any move to edge away from Ryan’s hold as he looks around the room.

 

"You two make an adorable couple," Robert Downey Junior says, his voice full of humour as he stops in front of them. "Bit of an age gap but that doesn't mean it can't work-"

 

"Oh sure, Ryan's got a lot of things to teach me," Tom replies, not missing a beat, whereas Ryan is struggling to work out if Robert is really joking or not and simultaneously trying to imprint on his brain the way that Tom says his name.

 

"I'm just making sure he doesn't drink too much. He's tiny. He'll be wasted after two glasses," Ryan says, regretting immediately that he's mentioned Tom's figure, because now he's looking him up and down in that tight suit. Jesus Christ.

 

"Uh-huh," Robert sounds completely unconvinced, which Ryan is going to chalk up to the other man having seen him hammered on so, so many occasions, and not because it's literally the most transparent lie he's ever told.

 

Ryan knows he can't keep a grip on Tom all night. They make a small circle towards the food, chatting about the next Deadpool movie and briefly about Tom's dancing, though he's rather shady by that. Ryan wishes he could go back in time and see that damn show. See Tom dance on stage, because he seems so reluctant to talk about it now. But then he would be very young then. And no matter what the laws in Britain are, Ryan’s sure he’d have been breaking a few of them.

 

"I'm gonna hit the bathroom, I won't be long," Ryan says, pressing the words against Tom's ear and then pulling away. He wonders for a second if Tom will follow, but once he's in the men's room any thought of dragging him into a cubicle is snuffed out by the rowdy crowd hanging out in there. There's alcohol and food on the other side of the door, but Ryan has to piss listening to five grown men hotly debating the nuances of the soundtrack of the film they just saw gathered around a sink.

 

Tom isn't by the food when Ryan emerges only a few minutes later.

 

He doesn't want to be weird and search the room for him, because that’s creepy, so Ryan finds himself another drink and starts to do the rounds, stopping by Sebastian and a few of the stunt guys to have a conversation, then moving around to Scarlett, who is exchanging baby stories with the wives of all three Chris's. Ryan doesn't have a lot to add to that, but he does like looking at pictures of babies. Stupid, small humans.

 

Perhaps he's been making Tom uncomfortable and Tom hasn’t wanted didn't to say anything. That- that's probably actually quite an accurate assumption. Would he have pulled away from a much older, more famous co-worker in a public setting? A co worker he'd had sex with? No, not in public, not around people they’re both friends with. Ryan suddenly hates himself for the gross amount of pressure he's clearly been putting on Tom. He's going to need to either get very drunk or leave. Only one of those two options are open to him.

 

Paul Rudd and Chris Hemsworth are at the bar lining up shots. Easiest way to get hammered in a few minutes. Ryan joins them, and they both seem pleased with his company. Chris is definitely doing better than Paul, though, which he puts down to 'being Australian. And a God' though he giggles every time he says it, so he probably shouldn't be driving anywhere-

 

The God excuses himself about fifteen minutes later, just as Ryan is beginning to feel buzzed, and not long  Paul abandons him with a slurred "need to go take a wicked piss, man. See ya murmblemurmble-"

 

Ryan watches him stagger off across the room in a long winded path to the bathrooms before ordering himself a pint of Coke. Diet Coke.

 

A warm hand slides beneath his suit jacket, a similarly warm breath grazing his neck.

 

"Deadpool?"

 

Ryan's eyes close. He's like Pavlov's goddamn Dog, except this is a really inconvenient reaction to have to the name of his most famous role. Or maybe it's only when it's whispered in that little raspy voice, the gentle murmur of his Spidey-

 

Ryan turns his head towards Tom, unsure if he's suddenly sober or if the shots are kicking in, all of him focussing solely on those eyes and those lips and the gentle flush on those cheeks. It's relief he feels. Unadulterated, beautiful relief.

 

"Hey, Spidey. Are you okay?" 

 

"I want you to take me home," Tom says, everything soft from his voice to his gaze to the touch of his fingers that are now on Ryan's thigh. "Take me home to bed."

 

Ryan blinks at him for a few seconds, seconds that he thinks he's using to give Tom an out. To change his mind. But he doesn't.

 

"Come on then," Ryan says, sliding off of his bar stool and putting his arm around Tom again, partly to help him balance. Tom's arm in turn moves around his waist, and Ryan likes it a lot. It helps that he probably looks drunk, and that Tom is simply steering him home. He'll play up to that. Without putting too much of his weight on Tom, Ryan sways happily across the bar room, waving goodbye to people, especially to people he doesn’t know. That’ll be convincing enough for the people still in the party, but the illusion should carry on until they get home, to save any later questions. So, when they climb into the back of one of the waiting cars, Ryan is no more helpful than a sack of potatoes. 

 

"Home, please," he giggles, pleased that Tom is grinning too.

 

"Little more specific, Buddy?" the driver says in good humour. 

 

Ryan reels off his address, and then directions, despite it being around the corner. He wants to at least seem drunk and not like a forty year old man taking home a boy half his age. 

 

"You want me to drop you off elsewhere?" the driver turns to asks Tom. "Once he's in the house?"

 

"No, no, I'll make sure he doesn't fall and break his face," Tom replies. "That's how he makes his money."

 

Tom sounds sincere and sober and so sweet with his little lilting voice that the driver seems to believe this is all good intentions. Ryan just likes to be cautious. He's sure there are NDAs signed by everyone everywhere, but why risk it? Drunk or not, he tips the driver generously when they arrive back at his house, before grabbing onto Tom to pull himself out of the car.

 

It's an excuse to get in a few solid gropes at least.

 

"You're actually the worst," Tom whispers as they make their way up Ryan's way-too-long drive. 

 

"Well I don't want everyone to think I'm dragging a twenty year old back to my house for a night of dirty, crazy sex," Ryan replies, tapping in the door code.

 

"Oh, I thought that's what you  _ were _ doing," Tom says, watching Ryan's face rather than the door code or the code for the house alarm. 

 

Ryan doesn't reply until the door is closed behind them, and then it's by slamming Tom against the wall, no concern for the boy's smaller frame.

 

They didn't kiss at all last time. Ryan is toying with the idea now, but Tom's fingers are tugging his shirt out of his trousers and it's a little distracting. 

 

"Hey, Spidey," he whispers instead, beginning to pull at Tom's tie. 

 

"Deadpool," Tom breathes, his hands suddenly pressing to Ryan's skin beneath his shirt, moving hungrily over his stomach, fingers dipping lightly between his muscles. "Jesus."

 

Ryan remembers (somewhat belatedly) that he'd had all of his clothes on last time. Nearly all of them. Tom's eyes are suddenly very dark, his tongue trailing temptingly over his lips.

 

He doesn't really think that Tom is in the position to be exclaiming things, since his body is mostly muscle and toned like a dancer and the image of it on the bed in his trailer is burnt into Ryan's brain.

 

Come to think of it, he really needs it refreshing. No harm.

 

His hands move beneath Tom's backside, hefting him up effortlessly. Tom doesn't hesitate to wrap his legs tightly around Ryan's waist. The way he clings on is really oddly erotic, though it's probably down to his thighs, their grip, mhm- Tom could probably grip onto Ryan with his thighs alone and stay perfectly stable. 

 

Ryan says nothing as he carries Tom towards the stairs, though Tom seems to be happily occupying himself as they go, stripping off his jacket and tossing it over the handrail, followed by Ryan's tie and then his own. He's working on the stiffer top button by Ryan's throat when they reach Ryan's bedroom.

 

He doesn't entertain in here often. Ever, actually. Anyone he brings home usually ends up being fucked into the sofa or stumbling into one of the downstairs guest rooms. But it’s only once they’re standing in his doorway that Ryan realises he’s brought Tom up here. He should be worried about his brain, shouldn’t he? 

 

Tom pauses for a moment as they move further in, looking around at the walls and then at the bed, which is obviously a lot bigger than the one in Tom's trailer.

 

Ryan's grip slackens, letting Tom slink to the floor, watching as he immediately sets off around the room to look at things, touching everything gently. Ryan has a lot of Deadpool paraphernalia in his room, props he has dubiously acquired from set, things he’d commissioned, or just merch he’s splashed out on. 

 

He slides off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt a little more as Tom makes his way round, coming to the katanas displayed a little less than artfully on the shelf. His fingers run over the grip, the ridged rubber hilt, and his gaze turns on Ryan, a dirty smirk on his lovely face.

 

"Have you ever used these for fun, Deadpool?" he asks, and Ryan blinks at him. 

 

"For- for killing?"

 

"For sex," Tom clarifies bluntly, wrapping his fingers around the hilt in a very obvious gesture. 

 

"Sex? I- what?" Ryan rasps, blinking.

 

"I’d let you put this inside me," Tom reiterates. "I'd let you fuck me with this." He says it so matter of factly that Ryan thinks he might have passed out somewhere and is fantasising this whole scenario. His cock throbs hard, his mouth dry. 

 

"I was hoping to use my dick but-"

 

"Oh you can," Tom nods, relinquishing his hold on the sword. "I was just saying."

 

He sits on the bed and toes off his shoes and socks. Christ, he's adorable. He's sexy and adorable and Ryan doesn't understand how he got this lucky.

 

He keeps his eyes on Tom as he undoes the rest of his own shirt. He's not long finished a movie, he's in good shape. He's proud of his body. 

 

Tom is watching with interest, following Ryan's fingers down his body until his shirt is shed and on the floor. He hears Tom let out a breath and feels smug.

 

"Are you going to take your clothes off, baby boy?" Ryan raises his eyebrows, his hands moving to the fastenings of his pants. 

 

Tom stands up, immediately copying Ryan’s actions, though he jumps ahead of Ryan quickly, pulling down his zipper and popping open his buttons without hesitation, discarding them on the floor with his shoes and socks.

 

Ryan licks his lips, admiring the way Tom's shirt falls to his thighs, leaving a little something to his imagination. Jesus, those legs.

 

Striding  forward, Ryan’s brain already knowing what it wants. He doesn't wait for Tom's reaction or approval, he's got his consent, so he wraps his hands around the back of Tom's thighs and topples him backwards onto the bed.

 

Ryan keeps ahold of him, holding his legs open and dropping down to his knees between them.

 

"You ever blown anyone, Spidey?" Ryan asks, running his hands up and down all of the smooth skin. Tom shakes his head, propping himself up on his elbows so that they can see each other. "Anyone ever blown you?" 

 

Tom blinks and Ryan knows the answer, the little toying smirk confirms it, but again Tom shakes his head. He's sticking to his role. But part of Ryan really wishes that it were true. 

 

He leans forward and presses his mouth to the fabric that is now stretched over Tom's cock. Above him Tom moans, and Ryan's hands move quickly up to the waistband of his underwear, tugging the material down gently.

 

He runs his tongue up Tom's erection, his mouth closing around his head, not giving Tom time to focus. Which is perfectly fine because he makes the most beautiful noises, surprise and pleasure mixed together.

 

Ryan kind of loves giving head. He likes the sensation, he likes the taste. His lips move slowly down the length of Tom's cock, tongue caressing each inch as he descends.

 

Tom flops back onto the bed, biting his lip and whimpering. Ryan pulls back, barely, but enough to form words.

 

"You can make as much noise as you like, baby boy. No one will hear us. Are you a screamer?" He grins and circles Tom's head with the tip of his tongue, pleased at the little yelp he gets in return. "Thought so," Ryan smirks, sinking down again, this time starting a more purposeful rhythm, up and down, twisting his lips slightly, curling his tongue, drawing more and more sounds from Tom. Ryan can taste the little spurts of precome, and he knows that he's going to have to stop soon before Tom gets too far, but it's such a shame. To have him writhing on the bed at the complete mercy of his mouth would be wonderful.

 

Maybe next time.

 

Ryan pulls back, lifting his eyes to look at Tom. Tom takes a second to realise Ryan's mouth has gone and he looks up, dazed. 

 

"I don't want you to come yet, baby boy," Ryan explains apologetically, hooking his fingers into Tom's underwear again, pulling it the rest of the way down his thighs and off. 

 

"Why?" Tom asks, though he seems completely pliable, not resisting as Ryan shifts him around so that he's completely on the bed. Ryan sheds out of the rest of his clothes and stands in front of Tom, appraising him and accepting the hot gaze being bestowed in return. 

 

"I want you on your hands and knees. I want to look at your ass as I fuck you," Ryan says. 

 

"Okay," Tom says, rolling onto his belly without hesitation. 

 

Ryan hums appreciatively, licking his lips. Tom is so obedient, and his ass is just- 

 

He climbs onto the bed and pushes the boy's legs apart, running his hands up the back of Tom's thighs and groping his cheeks. Tom sighs happily, and Ryan hears him moan against the pillow. 

 

Wondering how far he'll be allowed to go, Ryan draws his hand back and gently smacks Tom's left cheek, watching the little wobble, groaning at the way Tom gasps.

 

"You like that?" Ryan asks, his voice husky.

 

"Apparently you do," Tom grins over his shoulder. "You can keep going."

 

Ryan smirks back and slaps the other cheek, watching it wobble in the same way. His hands have left two little pink marks on Tom's skin. Ryan wants to leave finger marks, he wants to leave bruises that his boy will feel for a few days. Every time he sits down.

 

He gropes Tom's ass again, enjoying the feeling of his muscles tensing, enjoying how it fits nicely in two hands. Oh, and he gets the pleasure of fingering him, of lubing him up. It's a very good day.

 

Tom watches as Ryan leans over towards his drawer, taking out a tube of lubricant before resuming his position. He says nothing, but Ryan really wants to know what he's thinking.

 

"Are you okay?" He asks, popping the cap and squeezing the gel onto his fingers.

 

"Absolutely," Tom replies, a serene little smile on his face. "Aren't you?"

 

"I'm having the best night-" Ryan admits, wondering if that's a little too much. But Tom's expression softens even more and he almost looks as though he's blushing.

 

"Me too."

 

Ryan isn't expecting such a coy response, but it makes him smile, paused, gazing at the boy beneath him. They were both having  a good time. That’s all that matters. Nothing overly complicated-

 

Ryan's slick fingers slip between Tom's cheeks and find his entrance, pushing against it. The lack of resistance probably shouldn't be as sexy as it actually is, but Ryan is almost panting by the time he has one finger deep inside Tom's body. 

 

Tom flat on his stomach isn't a good position, he won't be able to fuck him like this. But for the moment both of them are enjoying how tightly he's gripping Ryan's finger, the slight friction and drag when Ryan moves it slowly and slightly in and out.

 

"Hands and knees," Ryan whispers, biting his lip to keep himself from cursing when Tom obeys immediately, even with Ryan's finger still inside him. "Good boy, Spidey," Ryan manages to rasp out, immediately pushing a second finger in beside the first.

 

Tom moans so sweetly, his muscles fluttering around Ryan's finger for a moment. Ryan looks down, looks at his two fingers pressed inside Tom, the way they stretch him. He could probably easily jerk off just looking at this. He pulls out slightly, then pushes in again, watching Tom’s entrance clench and relax. His cock twitches, aching between his legs, desperate to be buried in there, too.

 

Ryan’s free hand moves to the small of Tom’s back, exerting a tiny bit of pressure to make him dip slightly, changing the angle so that Ryan can reach deeper. He knows when he’s found the right spot because Tom cries out, gripping onto Ryan tightly. 

  
“Good boy,” Ryan purrs, circling his finger inside Tom, rubbing against his prostate relentlessly. “Let me hear you.”

 

Tom doesn’t hold back, moaning shamelessly and loudly, his own fingers twisted in the sheets. Ryan can feel the little bump swelling as he presses it, and the volume of Tom’s sobbing gasps of pleasure tell him he’s getting close. 

 

Something else for another time. But Ryan thinks he might be just as close as Tom, and he wants to feel Tom’s body around him for a few moments before he comes. He slides his fingers out, another shiver of smugness tingling through him when Tom whines at the loss. 

 

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here,” Ryan coos, gripping Tom’s hip with one hand, his cock with the other to guide himself into his lover’s body. He pushes in fully, enjoying the way Tom’s body so easily accommodates him. “Good boy, Spidey.”

 

Tom is flushed, but Ryan’s handprints still stand out on his bottom. Ryan hasn’t realise how possessive he could be, he’s certain he’s never felt this way about any other lover. The desire to mark, to have Tom remember this, to make sure anyone else he sleeps with soon know that Ryan was here first. Yes. Ryan growls softly at the thought, drawing himself back and thrusting in hard, eyes down, watching his cock slide into Tom’s tight body.

 

“Yes-” Tom mews. “More.”

 

How is Ryan supposed to ignore such a pretty plea? He draws back again, pushing forward, groaning at the sight beneath him. Tom’s ass moves just the way Ryan expected, it’s pornographic in the way it ripples just slightly with the rocking of Ryan’s hips. 

 

“Jesus Christ, you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, picking up the pace, unable to hold himself back any longer. He pounds into Tom, watching the way the smaller man’s body moves, how he grips the sheets, how he writhes and tries to meet Ryan as he pushes forward. He changes the depth of his thrusts again, wanting to keep Tom on edge for as long as he can, even though his own orgasm is so, so close. Ryan pulls nearly all the way out, then slides forward again, the grip of Tom’s body making him moan as it ripples down his cock. It’s difficult to keep his eyes open long enough to watch Tom take him in, the pleasure almost too much. 

 

“You gonna come for me, baby boy?” Ryan breathes, keeping up the long, hard thrusts, Tom’s body jerking every time Ryan’s head hits his prostate. 

 

He doesn’t expect Tom to take that as a direct order, but seconds later Tom’s muscles clench tightly around him, trembling violently. 

 

“Oh fuck, oh God-” Ryan gasps, resuming his shallow, rough thrusts to carry himself over the edge, which additionally makes Tom sob, the sound melting into a low, loud moan that increases in volume with every rocking motion. “Fuck, I’m there, oh my God-” Ryan whimpers, stilling as blinding pleasure rushes through him, cock throbbing as he fills Tom. 

 

Moments pass before the haze lifts and Ryan can move again, carefully pulling out of the boy beneath him and twitching as his come dribbles down Tom’s thigh. Ryan feels- he feels his heart swell, as though his chest is expanding, a flutter in his stomach. He helps Tom lower himself gently onto the bed, grabbing one of the comforters conveniently stuffed against the wall and draping it over them both. Tom wriggles around onto his side,facing Ryan, his cheeks pink, eyes wide, lips parted. Ryan has never seen anyone more beautiful. Hesitantly, he puts his hand on Tom’s hip, a gesture to move him closer, with which Tom complies. 

 

“I’ll go in a minute,” he slurs softly. 

 

“You don’t have to go anywhere,” Ryan replies with a frown. 

 

“Mmph, can’t stay here,” Tom says, his fingertips tracing lines on Ryan’s chest, down the centre, dancing over his muscles. 

 

“Why?” Ryan asks, his hand on Tom’s hip pressing again, more persistent, wanting him as close as possible. 

 

Tom is silent, seemingly enraptured by Ryan’s body, which is fine if it means that he abandons the notion of leaving. 

 

“Stay til morning. We’ll wake up early, you can borrow some clothes-” Ryan continues, because- because he wants to spend the night with Tom in his arms, because he wants to fall asleep to him breathing. Not because he wants to wake up and lazily fuck him in the morning, or take him into the shower and touch him. No. He wants to see Tom’s sleepy eyes and make him breakfast and-

 

“I can’t.” Ryan’s chest hurts suddenly, finding it difficult to not look away when Tom tips his face towards him. “You know I can’t.”

 

“Why?” Ryan demands, a little rougher than he likes. “There’s no reason-”

 

“There’s every reason,” Tom snaps. Only now does Ryan realise Tom’s been Tom nearly the whole time they’ve been together. But the bubbliness is lacking from his voice right now, and there’s an almost pained expression in his eyes. He pulls away. Ryan lets him, watching as he gathers up his things from the floor. There are red marks on his hips where Ryan gripped, his stomach shiny with his own come. He’s so fucking beautiful, but he’s leaving. “I’ll get myself a cab.”

 

“Stay here,” Ryan says again, almost falling out of bed in his haste to stop Tom. “Stay in my bed. I’ll go to one of the guest rooms. You can go in the morning, I’ll stay away until you leave.”

 

Tom looks at him so sadly that if Ryan’s heart wasn’t already broken that would have done the trick. He’s already pulled on his underwear and shrugged on his shirt, and Ryan feels almost indecent being naked. 

 

“Why don’t you understand?” Tom asks gently, closing the distance between them, taking Ryan’s face in his hands. Ryan wants to kiss him and never, ever stop. He wants to do everything in his power to pull that sadness from Tom’s eyes and fill them with happiness. Whatever is causing him this hurt needs to be destroyed. 

 

Unless it’s Ryan?

 

Maybe it’s Ryan.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, not daring to touch in case he can’t let him go.

 

“Don’t be,” Tom shakes his head, a flicker of a smile on his lips. “It’s me.”

 

Ryan opens his mouth to respond or to argue, but Tom shakes his head again.

 

“Bye, Ryan.”

 

His name in Tom’s voice had lit him up only a few hours before, but now it just settles like a weight in his chest. Ryan stands where he’s left, arms at his side, watching Tom walk out of the room.

  
  
  



End file.
